The year? 1986. The month? December. The place? Your apartment; ‘tis a blustery, winter night in The City That Never Sleeps. You look over Central Park, a raging blizzard tears its way across the now-barren wasteland. A frosty flurry whacks your face, reminding you of your past transgressions with The Sultan of Smooth. He’s all that’s on your mind now. Well, him and the baby.
Four months have passed since your last conversation with Mr. Sinatra. That night was a much needed respite from constantly denying your husband the truth, even if it turned rather sour in the middle.
Speaking of, Woody and Soon-Yi have been acting quite differently as of late. Sure, being pregnant at 42 isn’t exactly normal either, but their relationship has noticeably changed abruptly. He’s been taking her to the ‘Knicks games,’ but sometimes they’ll go out when there’s not one scheduled. It’s one of many life questions that keep you up into the wee small hours of the morning.
And a wee small hour of the morning it most certainly is. Ronan is coming any minute now, and you haven’t gotten any closure from his father. It’s almost as though he’s-
The phone rings, unexpectedly so. You weren’t expecting a call, and yet that’s precisely what you’ve been waiting for. Who you’ve been waiting for.
You run over to the handset, hands trembling. You’re ready to hear him a final time.
You pick it up, exhale softly, and begin your speech.
“Listen, I need to talk to you. Because I love you, and I don’t care about anyone else-”
A woman cuts you off. “Mia?”
“Barbara?” Uh oh. That’s his wife.
“Oh. Sorry. I was expecting someone else-”
You’ve been caught.
“Barbara, I can explain everything, I’m sorry-”
She cuts you off. “Mia, don’t bother. You’re not the only one he’s been seeing.”
Your heart sinks. How could he do this to you? How could he show such intense passion for one night, and then consort with some no-name floozy the next? One night, and then mess around with some floozy the next? Barbara was one thing, but now there’s more?
“Mia, I’m, I’m sorry. I really am. I know you two had something really special, and I’m okay with that. But, I’m calling because, because he’s just taken off! Out of the blue! I haven’t seen him for days!”
As your heart sank moments before, you feel it flutter upon hearing those words. Maybe you’ll get your closure after all.
“Oh, no,” you worry disingenuously, “where do you think he is?”
And just like that, there’s a knock outside your door. It must be him.
“I assumed that you knew where he might be. Mia? Mia? Mia, are you there?-”
You hang that tramp up. You run over to the door; it swings open, revealing five feet and eight inches of pure man. Frank is here.
“I don’t care what anyone says, about us. I love you, Mia.”
“I know. I love you too.”
He breathes a sigh of relief, relaxes his broad shoulders, and takes you in his arms. Oh, how you’ve missed this. How you wish the two of you could remain in this sweet embrace until the end of time, until the world explodes.
“We can’t keep going on like this,” you wistfully say.
“I know. But I will always be here for you, darling.”
He smoothly caresses your face as the your lips envelop each others. It’s pure bliss.
He pulls away.
“And one for my baby.”
As Frank gently kisses the top of your stomach, you feel a kick. And then, immediately following, a pop.
You step back and look down. There’s a small amount of fluid slowly trickling down your leg.
“He’s, he’s here. Frank, he’s here-” you’re quivering.
He rushes to your side. “I can take you to the hospital, Mia.”
“I never meant for any of this, Frank, I really didn’t-”
“It doesn’t matter what you meant to happen, my dear. All that matters is what actually happened. And right now, we need to go.”
Frank takes you out of your apartment, down the stairs, through the lobby and out into his car. Mr. Jacobs is waiting.
“George,” Frank commands, “take us to Mount Sinai. Now!”
You drive off to the hospital, and by the time you arrive you’re already in immense pain. Throughout the incredibly long and arduous sixteen hour labor, Frank is by your side every second. Through the blood, sweat, tears, and emotional wounds, he’s there.
And eventually, he pops out. Your son. He’s beautiful. He has his father’s eyes.
In that moment, all is well. You and Frank lay in the calming and warm recovery room for what seems like hours, bodies intertwined on the bed, with little Ronan between you. Everything is perfect. But moments of such pure beauty and love can only last for so long.
“I should go,” Frank acknowledges, “Woody will be here soon.”
“Just a little while longer.”
“A little while longer and the press will have me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Mia.”
“I know, I know. I just wish things were different.”
He gets up to leave.
“I guess this is goodbye,” you lament. Tears are flowing, and you’re letting them out.
Frank looks back with his deep, Adriatic eyes. He’s got tears in his, too. He gently croons, just for you:
I’ll never forget you.
I’ll never forget you.
I’ll never forget how we promised one day,
To love one another forever that way.
We said we’d never say, “Good-bye.”
But that was long ago.
Now you’ve forgotten, I know.
No use to wonder why.
Let’s say farewell with a sigh.
Let love die.
But we’ll go on living,
Our own way of living.
So you take the high road and I’ll take the low.
It’s time that we parted,
It’s much better so.
But kiss me as you go.
He walks over to your bed, plants a kiss on the baby’s forehead, and then on your lips.
He breaks away, smiling through the heartache. Oh, how you love his real smile. So sweet, so genuine.
And then, he leaves.
Now, it’s just you and your son. Satchel Ronan O’Sullivan Farrow Sinatra. The result of one torrid, forbidden love affair between you, Mia Farrow, and your one true love, Frank Sinatra, of which the world is oblivious to.
And that, my friends, is the story of The Bastard of New York.